


Play With Fire

by Rookblonkorules



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, BAMF Riza Hawkeye, Death, Gen, Gunshots, Hostage Situation, Hurt Edward Elric, Kidnapping, Mentions of past genocide, Parental Roy Mustang, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Riza Hawkeye, Protective Roy Mustang, Roy Mustang has PTSD-Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Some Humor, edward elric whump, implied edwin, of an original antagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rookblonkorules/pseuds/Rookblonkorules
Summary: If you play with fire, you’re going to get burned. Ed’s kidnappers learn this the hard way.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric & Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric & Riza Hawkeye, Edward Elric & Roy Mustang, Edward Elric & Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell (implied), Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang
Comments: 20
Kudos: 324





	Play With Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I found the beginning of this abandoned in my docs. Decided to finish it.  
> Timeline wise, this takes place a year or two before Brotherhood, so Ed should be about thirteen/fourteen here.

It’s to a muddled stream of consciousness that Ed first regains awareness to.

His thoughts aren’t coming right, flowing slow like syrup.

_Winry…_ Somehow, he knows that she’s in trouble. She’s in _danger._

They’re going to hurt her, kill her even.

That thought alone is enough to spur him into attempted action, but his muscles are in lockdown. 

He can’t move right, can’t think right, can’t _breathe_ right.

Something tight is wound around his chest, constricting his breathing even further. His arm is pinned against his body at an odd angle.

His _arm._

Singular.

Panicked, he jerks against whatever is holding him in place, wiggling the fingers of his flesh arm in an effort to feel... but he can’t… he can’t feel his automail arm. 

It’s gone.

He lets his head sag back against the floor.

_Oh, Winry is so going to kill him now._

Winry… Where is she? Is she okay?

She’s in trouble, isn’t she? That’s why he’s here. Looking for Winry. Where is she then?

A muffled groan escapes his lips and his tongue pushes forward, but something obstructs it.

Someone says something above him. The words are distorted, like they’re struggling to reach him through a foot of water.

A foot roughly nudges his side and Ed twists to get away from it with a grunt. 

There’s a harsh laugh from above him, followed by a voice.

“Kid’s awake.”

The foot rolls him over, then pins him flat on his back so Ed can’t maneuver away from it. 

“Better ring the Flame Bastard then, right?”

_Mustang?_

This isn’t good.

What the hell do they want?

The foot is removed. 

A hand caught him by the crook of his elbow, dragging him upright. Ed cries out behind the gag, scrambling to get his feet under him and failing. 

His head feels like it’s been knocked off and not quite screwed back on right. The room is spinning around him. 

The man drops him and Ed can’t catch himself before his head hits the floor. White flashes behind his eyes and then he’s trying desperately to steady his breathing before he pukes. 

If he pukes with the gag in his mouth… That’s an end he’d rather not think about.

The gag is ripped away and left hanging around his neck.

Ed gasps, sucking in air. 

He’s only given about a moment’s reprieve when a hand grabs him by his air, yanking his chin up.

Something is thrust in his face.

It’s a moment before he can register it for what it is: a telephone.

“Say something.”

What? 

_“Fullmetal?”_

The tinny voice coming from the telephone’s speaker belongs to...

His eyes widen fractionally. 

A fist slams into his stomach before he has the chance to actually say something. 

The breath leaves his body with a choked gasp.

Ed doubles over, but the hand in his hair prevents him from fully curling to protect his front.

Another blow lands. When the third one comes, Ed can’t hold back his cry. 

He can’t hear Mustang over the blood rushing in his ears, but he knows the man must be shouting something. 

There’s something he should say, but before he can think of what he is, the phone is taken away from his ear.

The hand stays, fingers wound in his hair, as the man says something into the phone. Delivering his ultimatum is more than likely.

Ed wishes he knew what it was. He’s tired of being here without any idea of why. He’s tired of being here at all. 

The grip on his hair is released.

Ed barely has time to feel any relief before he’s shoved to the ground hard enough that his head bounces off the concrete.

He grunts, sees a flash of white and feels a searing pain behind his eyes. This time, with no gag to obstruct him, he vomits.

“Disgusting,” the man above him sneers, nudging him roughly with the toe of his boot, flipping him over onto his back.

He leans down, dragging Ed away from the puddle by the shoulders.

Ed groans, but… at least, he’s no longer at risk of drowning in his own stomach acids.

“Bring it here, Braun!”

The command is evidently carried out.

Ed opens bleary eyes in time to see as a canister of… something changes hands. 

The man holding it sees him looking and grins… and then he tips it over. 

A pungent odor hits Ed’s nostrils as something cool sloshes over him. It mixes with the stench of vomit to create something particularly repugnant. 

He gags again, but there’s nothing else to bring up from his stomach this time.

That smell though… 

It hits Ed at the same time the man crouches down, a hand on his shoulder.

“Gasoline.”

Ed’s heart stutters in his chest.

If this trap is for Mustang… soaking the place in gasoline is the surest way of making sure he can’t fight back. 

Except, from the look of things, they didn’t soak the entire place.

Just him. 

The bastard might act like he doesn’t care, but there isn’t a more effective method of rendering the Colonel defenseless.

_Damn it._

The man grins crookedly. 

“That’s right,” he drawls. “You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?”

“Why…?” Ed asks. He shuts his eyes again and prays for the world to just stop spinning. 

“Dogs need to learn their place.” His captor shrugs, like he doesn’t particularly care one way or the other. “Your precious flame colonel seems unable to grasp that concept. He’s been eyeing positions far above his station and that’s been… concerning for some of the higher ups. It won’t be too good for his health if he keeps going.” He glances at Ed. “Or yours.”

“You’re going to kill him?”

“Of course not.” He settles himself on the floor with a relaxed grunt. “There’d be no point to this if the endgame was just to kill him. Why go to all this length when a simple assassination would do the trick just fine?”

Ed stares at him, struggling to formulate a proper response through the fog that’s still clouding his mental faculties. 

Why is he telling him all this? 

Aren’t you supposed to keep your hostage in the dark?

Unless- and Ed blanches at the thought even though it should have been among the first that occurred to him- he doesn’t intend to let him live. 

But he’s also not telling Ed anything that would actually be useful later. 

He has something against the Colonel? That’s far from unusual. Ed’s sure there’s got to be a line out there somewhere for those people. 

Hell, even _he_ wishes someone would knock Mustang down a peg or two when he’s especially frustrated with the man. 

Not like this though.

Someone steps into Ed’s field of vision and bends low to whisper something in the man’s ear.

This newcomer is masked and carries a gun. 

Does the man consider himself so untouchable that he doesn’t feel the need to take the same precautions as his subordinates?

He straightens and the man sighs, glancing at Ed distastefully. 

“Well,” he begins, “I would apologize for the inconvenience, but…” He waves his hand and Ed realizes belatedly that someone has approached him from behind. 

The cloth gag is replaced, dragged between his teeth before he can offer up more than a muffled protest.

The man stands up, smoothing the lapels of his jacket. 

Ed glares at him.

If looks could kill, Ed’s sure he’d be nothing more than a smoldering pile of ashes on the floor by now.

He sends Ed a sideways smirk.

“Keep your chin up, kid,” he says. “Things might be getting a little hot.”

* * *

Colonel Roy Mustang tugs at the hem of his glove and prepares to go to war with the men holding his subordinate captive. 

His blood is burning, but that’s not enough to take away from the unease. 

They made a mistake when they didn’t specify that his gloves be left behind. 

Or that’s what he would like to believe anyways, but the truth is that there’s something unsettling about this. 

His status both as the Flame Alchemist and the hero of Ishval is far from unknown. It’s borderline infamous. 

Why go to the trouble of inviting a confrontation with one of the most dangerous men in Amestris without bothering to disarm him?  
Of course, the answer to that is Fullmetal. 

They’re counting on their ability to use Fullmetal’s position to contain him and they aren’t wrong about that.

He intends to get his subordinate back alive.

Any other outcome is unacceptable.

It still doesn’t sit right with him and he’s more thankful than ever for the pair of eyes he has watching his back.

Even if he can’t see her right now.

Roy steps forward. 

The meeting place is, if the sign out front is to be believed, an old dance studio, but it’s hard to imagine children ever being in a place like this.

It’s clearly been unused for years. 

Roy touches the door knob, but the door falls open before he even has a chance to turn it. 

He’s almost insulted.

Is this really the best they could find?  
The smirk is wiped off his face when he remembers the reason why he is here. The phone call. Ed’s cry of pain.

They hurt him. 

His fingers curl and, for a moment, he allows himself to fantasize what it would be like to snap those fingers, watch them burn.

A moment later and he stops, horror-stricken by his own thoughts. The smell of burning flesh assaults his nostrils and, even if he’s aware the sensation is entirely psychosomatic, he still recoils as though it weren’t.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Colonel Mustang.” A figure stands in a doorway just to his left, presumably leading deeper into the building. 

The man is dressed impeccably well. Dark hair pulled back into a short ponytail only barely brushes his collar. 

A sharply pointed chin and eyes that sparkled mischievously suggested nothing more harmful than a prankster of sorts.

But Roy knows better than to judge based on appearances, however. 

There’s danger hiding behind the mischief though. It shows in the shine of his eyes and the slant of his smile. 

“Where’s Fullmetal?”

“Straight to the chase, eh? Well, that’s no fun.” He yawns and waves a hand, gesturing for Roy to follow him. “Oh, well, I suppose it’s understandable.”

Roy presses his fingers together when the man turns his back on him.

Is he really so arrogant as to suppose Roy won’t use his alchemy?  
Fullmetal isn’t anywhere in sight. If Roy were to dispose of him here, there wouldn’t be the risk of burning Edward along with him. 

He has to concede that as of yet, he doesn’t have enough information to justify taking that action. For all he knows, there’s someone waiting to stick a knife in Ed the moment something goes wrong. 

Until he can be certain his subordinate is safe, he’ll just have to play along. So he follows, well aware that they’re heading deeper into the building where it will be harder for backup to arrive. 

The man steps aside, with an elegant flourish. 

“As you can see, he’s mostly unharmed.”

Roy strides forward, then stops in his tracks. 

Edward sits in the room, his back against a support post. His automail arm has been removed- judging by how relatively undamaged the port looks, it must have been by someone with some understanding of what they were doing. His other arm has been wrenched behind his back, kept there by the rope tied around his torso. 

Whatever Ed tries to shout at him is muffled by the gag wedged between his teeth. 

His hair is damp, bangs plastered to his forehead, and something stains the front of his shirt. A bruise is already forming on his cheek and Roy grinds his teeth when he realizes how they must have got that sound out of him. 

A man stands over him, masked and with a gun leveled at his subordinate’s golden head. 

“You!” Roy snarls, lunging forward. “Get away from him!” 

He brings his fingers together, ready to snap.

“Now, now, Mr. Mustang.” His escort speaks up from the sidelines. He tilts his head, making a show of inhaling deeply. “Do you smell something?” 

The question is so bizarre that it gives Roy pause. He sniffs the air and…

“Gasoline,” the man fills in before it can click in Roy’s brain. “I thought you might appreciate it. So snap your fingers if you’d like, Colonel Mustang. You’d only be watching him burn along with me.”

Roy inhales harshly, feeling instantly sick. How had he not realized at first?

When he speaks next, his tone is carefully controlled, hands curled into fists at his side. “How… utterly depraved of you.”

“Yes, well.. one always has to take precautions when dealing with someone such as the _hero of Ishval,_ do they not?”

“What do you want?”

“You can start by taking off your gloves.”

Roy complies, dropping them off to his left. Out of reach for now. 

In the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the sunlight streaming through a window. 

It’s high-up, unusual for a dance studio, or so Roy thinks, but it suits his purposes just fine. 

“What’s the matter?” The man tilts his head. It’s the first time Roy has seen him look genuinely puzzled and he’s finding that he rather likes it. “You’re smiling.”

“Am I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m just curious as to what could have you smiling when the odds are not in your favor.”

The gunshot drowns out anything that might have been said next. 

The man jerks to the side in time the spray of blood as his comrade goes down with a bullet between his eyes. 

Roy is on him before he has time to recollect his wits. A blow to the jaw knocks him to the ground. 

“You did this to a child!” 

“How sweet.” The man wipes a trickle of blood from his chin and coughs. Blood stains his teeth when he grins up at him. “The hero of Ishval pretending to care about children. Or is it only the children of Amestris who’ve earned your protection? How many children did you murder in that war? It must have been hundreds.”

The words are meant to wound and they do.

Roy recoils and the man takes advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration.

His fist finds its way to Roy’s gut. 

Roy chokes and the man rolls out from under him. Before he can get his bearings, a foot connects with the side of his head and topples him.

Ed’s shout is muffled behind the gag. 

Roy grinds his teeth beneath the ringing in his ears and the white light that flashes behind his eyes. He can’t let the kid distract him. Not now. 

The man winds his leg back for another kick. This time, when he swings, Roy is ready. 

He catches him by the ankle and flips him onto his back. 

He regains his footing, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He takes a step back, feels something beneath his foot, and looks down. 

He’s standing in the puddle of blood.

It’s hardly the first dead body he’s seen, hardly the first blood pool he’s trodden in. 

After being reminded of Ishval- it makes his stomach turn. 

He steels himself. Now is not the time to let memories overtake him. 

The man is already climbing to his feet, shoulders heaving. Blood leaks from his nose and trickles down his chin.

His grin when he makes eye contact with Roy is almost manic. 

“How hypocritical of you,” he says, chuckling to himself, “to criticize me for using him when you made him into a weapon yourself.”

Roy doesn’t give him a chance to continue. The next blow has the man slumping to the floor, unconscious. 

For a moment, Roy stands over him. Then, he turns away. There will be time to learn of who he is later once he’s been taken into custody. 

His eyes fall on the corpse lying on the ground. 

His lips thin. He regrets that Edward had to witness that, but there’s nothing he can do about that now. 

He kneels before his young subordinate, blinking past the fumes from the gasoline. 

_This can’t be good._ Inhaling too much, he knows, is detrimental to one’s health and he has no idea how long Ed has been breathing them in.

Ed will need to be checked out once they get him out of here, just to make sure there isn’t a risk of him succumbing to anything later on. 

The smell of vomit hangs in the air- it’s nearly hidden beneath the sharp odor of the gasoline, but it’s there. That explains the stain on Ed’s shirt.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, the moment the gag is removed. He resists the temptation to reach out, to touch him, to see to it himself that he’s in one piece. 

He sees the hesitation that sparks in his eyes and has to hold in a sigh. “Don’t lie to me.”

The kid glares at him for a split second before relenting. “They hit me a few times,” he admits, looking down, and Roy again notes the bruise forming on the boy’s cheek. 

He feels a new surge of righteous anger, but ignores it for the time being. The culprits have either been shot or are out of commission. 

Under normal circumstances, a small spark would be all that’s needed to undo the ropes. Under these circumstances, that’s out the question.

He might not be Hughes, with all his hidden knives, but he does see fit to carry a blade on his person at all times. 

It’s rare that he’s ever had the need to use it- his alchemy has always served him well- but he’s thankful for that decision now. 

He takes it out now, cutting through the ropes with a quick flick of his wrists. 

“Is Winry okay?”

_Winry…_ The Elrics’ little mechanic friend. Roy has forgotten all about her. 

“Your friend is fine.”

The relief is written clearly all across Ed’s face.

“Told me she was hurt,” he mumbles. 

“That’s what she said,” Roy tells him. “But she’s okay. They didn’t hurt her. Although, I think you’ve managed to scare both her and Alphonse half to death.”

“I’ll have to apologize to both of them then,” Ed says softly. He actually sounds ashamed. Does he think this whole debacle was his fault?

That’s not a conversation Roy is prepared to have. 

“Can we…” His eyes roam to the limp figures on the floor. A shudder passes through him when they land on the corpse and he quickly looks away. He sounds very small- like an actual boy his age- when he finishes speaking. “Can we leave now?”

Ro considers. Everything in him wants to get the kid away from here _now_. 

The chances of the man regaining consciousness and leaving in the time it would take Hawkeye to get here are slim. 

Roy doesn’t think he wants to take that risk though. They still need to learn who he was working for. 

Still… is it really enough to justify keeping Ed here longer than he has to?

“Alright then,” he concedes.

He may fool people into forgetting more often than not, but Edward is still a child. 

He’s been put through enough already.

Gingerly, he loops Ed’s arm around his shoulders, wrapping his own arm around Ed’ waist.

Ed grinds his teeth, but doesn’t complain when Roy helps him to his feet. 

“This would be easier,” he says, “if you weren’t so short.”

Ed chokes, sputtering something, and Roy feels instantly bad for egging him on. Not bad enough to apologize for it. 

“Did you have to kill him?” Ed’s next question catches him off guard and he thinks back to the corpse behind them.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says sincerely. At some point, he’ll get a better look at the dead man’s face- or what’s left of it. He’ll learn his name. 

He’ll become just another face to haunt his dreams. 

The short answer to Ed’s query is yes. But now isn’t the time. 

“Hawkeye should be joining us soon.”

With the heel of his foot, he closes the door behind them. They’re in what must have been the reception area once. 

Admittedly, bringing Riza had been a risk from the start, but it had ultimately paid off. 

“Colonel!” Riza joins them within minutes of their setting foot on the streets. To anyone else, her words would seem clipped, professional, but Roy has known her for years. Long enough to know how tight her voice sounds when she’s afraid for someone. “Is…?” Her eyes land on Ed and immediately soften. 

Ed gives her a lopsided grin and Roy can’t help but think that it would be a thousand times more effective if the kid didn’t look like shit already. 

“Hey, Lieutenant.”

“Hey, how come he always respects you?”

Predictably, Riza ignores Roy’s own inquiry with a roll of her eyes. 

“Edward, are you alright?” She steps closer to examine the mark on his face. “How hard did they hit you?” She curves her fingers under his chin and tips his head back gently, taking a look at his eyes.

“They drugged me,” Ed mumbles. He’s slumping against Roy’s shoulder, which is the first indication that something isn’t right. Whether it’s just exhaustion taking over or side effects from the drugs and beating, Roy doesn’t want to take a chance. “Took my automail too. Winry’s gonna kill me.” He blinks at them both. “Is it seriously just you guys?”

“I’ve already put in a call to Headquarters,” Riza says. “There should be reinforcements arriving within the hour.”

Roy grimaces. Within the hour… It’s not desirable, but it’s what they have to work with. 

“I’ll wait for them, sir. Take him to the hospital.”

“Alright.” Roy shifts his hold on Ed. The kid is starting to go slack. “Don’t fall asleep on me now, Fullmetal.”

His order goes unheard.

* * *

Alphonse is at his side the moment Ed is cleared for visitors. It fortunately doesn’t take too long for that to happen.

“You end up here too often, Brother,” Al says softly. His giant hands are clenched into fists down by his sides.

The chair provided is too small for him so he stands by the wall instead. 

“I know.” Ed draws a knee up to his chest. “I’m sorry, Al.”

“No, I’m sorry, Brother.” Al sounds so miserable that Ed’s heart stutters in his chest.

“Al, what…?”

“You needed me and I wasn’t able to help you. You spend so much time worrying about me instead of looking after yourself and then the one time you need me to be there for you and I… I couldn’t do anything.”

“You think this was your fault?” Ed’s not quite sure he understands. What is he talking about? How could this have been his fault?

“That’s not what I mean,” Al clarifies. “I don’t want to be sidelined while you’re in danger. I know they didn’t have a choice but to leave me behind, but… I don’t like it, Brother.”

Ed imagines himself in that position. If Al had been kidnapped, if there was someone out there who knew about his blood seal, who knew how to erase him from this world- his insides twist and he clutches at the hospital sheets. 

“I’m really sorry, Al.”

Al makes a noise that sounds like an inhalation. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Al says softly. 

“But…”  
“Ed!” Ed’s head snaps up in time to see Winry flying at him. “Oomph!” She hugs him tightly. “Ow, Winry! Watch it!”

“You big dummy!” she scolds. “Don’t scare me like that again!”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he mutters, but he reaches awkwardly to hug her back with his one arm. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

She pulls away from him, wiping her eyes. 

Ed really wishes she would stop crying when stuff like this happened. It just makes him feel worse.

“I’m okay, Ed. Really. What about you?” Her eyes land on his automail arm- or rather his lack thereof. “What happened to your arm? I just fixed it for you!”

“They took it!” He glares at her, nostrils flaring. “Can’t you think of something else for once, you crazy gearhead?”

“My automail is state of the art! Did they recover your arm at least?” Ed huffs at her and she sighs. “I guess I’ll just have to make you a new one then.” She leans over, examining his port.

Her hair smells… really, really nice, actually, now that it's kind of in his face. 

Ed’s cheeks heat up when he realizes this and he leans back to get away from her. 

She grabs his shoulder, holding him in place. “What are you doing, weirdo? I need to get a look at this.”

Ed grumbles unhappily, but he complies. 

After a moment, Winry sighs. “Well,” she says, “at least they didn’t damage your port.”

“Yeah.” Ed reaches up and grasps his shoulder.

“Are… you really okay, Winry?” he asks finally. 

“Huh?” Winry glances up. “Yeah, I… I’m fine, Ed. Thanks.”  
“Good.” Ed rubs the back of his neck. “I’d have to knock some heads together if you weren’t.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Brother,” Al says, a little too innocently. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing.”


End file.
